She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. " "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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